


He Doesn't Row

by lukegray (spacebarista)



Category: The Following
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, bioshock infinite au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 13:49:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1943532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacebarista/pseuds/lukegray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They talk as if they know him, but isn't there with them. Not really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Doesn't Row

**Author's Note:**

  * For [almostfamousgrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/almostfamousgrl/gifts).



> I was talking to my friend about Bioshock Infinite AUs for The Following as we both are in love with that game, and one AU we came up with is Mark and Luke as the Lutece "twins" dealing with a Ryan Hardy who just can't succeed. Mark is Robert Lutece (the optimist), Luke is Rosalind Lutece (the pessimist), and Ryan is Booker DeWitt, and he doesn't row.

“Are you going to just sit there?”

Ryan Hardy comes to slowly. It’s wet and cold. And he’s not alone.

“As compared to what? Standing?”

“Not standing. _Rowing_.”

There are two people in the boat with him, it seems. But they have the same voice. He blinks away the fog and the rain and ignores a shiver down his spine. There _are_ two people: one has his back to him, and the other is rowing, but a lantern behind him keeps his face in shadow. They’re both in raincoats. Where’s his? There’s a light moving in the distance, but the real fog is too thick for him to make it out. He rubs at his arms.

“Rowing?” The second man sounded incredulous. “I hadn’t planned on it.” He turns then, but most of his face is hidden from Ryan by the brim of his hat. There’s the barest hint of a smirk on his face as he holds a small wooden box out to him.

The first man doesn’t like that answer. “So you expect me to shoulder the burden?”

“What’s this?” Ryan finally speaks, taking the deceptively heavy box from him. He turns away and answers the first man instead.

“No. But I expect you to do all the rowing.”

So… they aren’t going to talk to him, then. Ryan inspects the box. It… it has a plaque stating that it’s _his_. Property of Ryan Hardy: 7th Cavalry, Wounded Knee. He hasn’t seen this box in _years_. He didn’t want to remember it. The men before him continue to ignore him.

“And why is that?” The first asks.

“Coming here was _your_ idea,” the second one counters slyly.

“ _My_ idea?”

“I’ve made it very clear that I don’t believe in the exercise.”

Ryan realizes what it is that’s making the light. A lighthouse. But… this far off the coast? That doesn’t make any sense…

“The rowing?”

“No.” The second man sounds more matter-of-fact than teasing. “I imagine that’s _wonderful_ exercise.”

“Then _what_?” The first man sounds as if he’s been through a similar argument with the second man _many_ times. Tired of it, finished with it. They must have known each other for a long time. Ryan shakes his head. The curse of being a private detective. He detects too much.

“The entire thought experiment.”

Ryan’s tired of being ignored. He’s been brought all the way out here from New York and these men _barely_ acknowledge him. He sighs and reaches a hand out to the second man. “Excuse me,” he calls, choosing to be polite over combative. “How much longer?”

There’s a pause. The first man speaks.

“One goes into an experiment knowing one could fail.”

Ryan doesn’t know what he was expecting. Of course the men continue to speak as if he isn’t there. He takes a deep breath and looks back at the box, unlatching and opening it. There are pictures and papers and other items in the box, and they all get wet as they’re exposed to the rain.

“But one doesn’t undertake an experiment knowing one _has_ failed.”

The first thing Ryan sees is a card with crude drawings next to numbers attached to the top of the box. Some sort of… pattern? Beside it is a postcard picturing a _massive_ statue of an angel, a place called… “Monument Island”. Is this where he’s meant to go?

“Can we get back to the rowing?”

Ryan picks up a pistol that’s resting on more images. No wonder the box is heavy. He checks to see if it’s loaded, and shoves it into his holster. “That’ll work,” he mutters to himself, knowing the men won’t care what he says.

“I suggest you do or we’re never going to get there.”

Next, Ryan picks up a picture of a girl. No… a young woman. She’s looking away from the camera. Does she not know it’s there? Cameras aren’t difficult things to hide. He flips it over. Scrawled on the back are the words: “Bring to New York, unharmed.”

“No, I mean I’d greatly appreciate it if you would assist.” The first man sounds more than annoyed.

Ryan tosses the photo back in the box. So _that’s_ the girl he’s meant to find. _“Bring us the girl, and wipe away the debt.”_ If he has any hope of getting rid of the men after him for gambling more than he should, then he has to find this girl. He spots the coordinates for New York. Why would he need those? He knows how to get there from… where is he again? For some reason, his mind is… blank on where he is and how he got here. That doesn’t explain the coordinates. He also spots a key with a cage on it, and some strange coins he also doesn’t recognize. The second man speaks again. Ryan closes the box and looks back to them.

“Perhaps you should ask _him_.” Ask him what? Oh, to row. Of _course_ they only acknowledge him when they want something. “I imagine he has a greater interest in getting there than I do.”

_Bring us the girl, wipe away the debt._

“I suppose he does,” the first man finally concedes. “But there’s no point in asking.”

“Why not?” Yeah, why not? The light falls on them, but does nothing to illuminate the man rowing. He can see the dock coming up behind him. He’ll have more answers soon.

“Because he doesn’t row.”

“He doesn’t _row_?”

“No. He _doesn’t_ row.”

Being spoken about as if Ryan isn’t right behind them is _almost_ as frustrating as being straight ignored. And why are they talking about him like they know him? They didn’t ask him to row. Why would he offer to if they don’t ask him to help? If they don’t even speak to him unless they want help? Besides, there’s only one set of oars. And he has to hold onto his box.

“Ah. I see what you mean.”

What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean? The second man didn’t even _look_ at him. How did he “see” anything? Ryan looks up at the bright lighthouse light. Finally the dock is clear beside them, and the first man struggles to get the boat alongside it in the storm-disturbed waters.

“We’ve arrived,” the second man announces flatly (and unnecessarily). Ryan can see clear as day that they’ve made it. Though, how he gets to the girl from here is… cloudy as his thoughts. The first man pulls the oars in, and the boat miraculously stays close to the dock. As if waiting for Ryan to clamber onto it.

Ryan climbs the slick, worn ladder up to the dock. He’s happy to be on solid ground again. Any more rocking and he would have either fallen back to sleep or become ill. The lighthouse isn’t very imposing; it’s quite short, but clearly the only thing for miles. It’s light does nothing to pierce the fog. He begins to move forward, when the second man interrupts him.

“Shall we tell him when we’ll be returning?”

Well, yes, that would be helpful. He struggles not to roll his eyes. He’s no longer surprised they refer to him as if he’s not right beside them. When he looks down, the first man is already rowing away.

“Would that change anything?”

What? What does he mean, “change”?

“It might give him some comfort.”

So _now_ they care about his comfort. But… why would he need comfort? He’s on his way to… well, an admittedly mysterious job. At a lighthouse. Off the coast. God knows where. Maybe he does need some comfort. But the pair continues to row away.

“At least that’s _something_ we can agree on…”

What is he supposed to do at a _lighthouse_?

“Hey!” Ryan tries to get their attention again. “Is someone meeting me here?”

To his surprise, the first man looks in his direction. He can see the reflection of light on his eyes, but nothing else.

“I’d certainly hope so,” he calls back, _finally_ addressing him. Why _now_?

“It does seem like a _dreadful_ place to be stranded,” the second chimes in. Ryan isn’t sure who he’s speaking to. He doesn’t turn around.

The rowing man pulls them into darkness, and all Ryan can see is the glow of their lantern. He turns to the lighthouse again and shivers. It’s dank and cold and the rain doesn’t seem to be letting up. The second man is right. It _is_ a dreadful place to be stranded. He empties the contents of the box and stuffs them into various pockets before anything can be ruined. The only ones who know what he actually needs from the box are rowing away. No, the _one_ is rowing away. The other is arguing. Regardless, he takes everything. Just in case. He drops the box in the boathouse nearby. Taking a deep breath, he looks at the lighthouse.

“Ah, well. Maybe there’s someone inside…”


End file.
